Het tuinpad van mijn vader

Toen ‘k langs het tuinpad van mijn vader
De hoge bomen nog zag staan
Was ik een kind. Hoe kon ik weten
Dat dat voorgoed voorbij zou gaan
[W. Sonneveld]

The father of Elly, a friend of mine from Rotterdam, died last Sunday. And though I was sick at home the whole week, I wanted to attend the cremation in Den Bosch to support my friend. When I came there I didn't seem to be the only only one who hag the same thought. A dozen of friends I also know by face and small talk had shown up to support her.
Elly was very brave, I thought. She was able to speak at the ceremony about her memories about her father. It was very touching (because it reminded me of so many things of my own live: my dead father, my youth, his funeral (and others), and death in general).
Apparently you can get 87 years old and even then it is much too early to cross the river Styx.